Sense of Smell
by Yawping Stance
Summary: Dr. Brennan of the Jeffersonian recieves a victim who died in a rather peculiar way. The case takes her and Booth to New York City, where lives a tie to the victim. Mohinder Suresh may be able to tell them who they're looking for more inside,safety rate
1. Desperately Seeking Suresh

**Disclaimer:** I do not in any way fully or partially own either Heroes or Bones. If I did, Mohinder would either be mine or he and Matt would be out and comfortably living in Mo's apartment with joint custody of Molly.

**Some Important Author's Notes:** This takes place in no particular season of Bones, since I've only seen about half of the first season and a few later episodes here and there. For Heroes, it's sort of a Season Two netherworld, I guess. I get the order of events in Heroes flipped wrong way round sometimes, so bear with me. Yes, this will contain an OFC, but she'll be in no way romantically involved with Matt or Mohinder. =P House of M, Matt/Mohinder (coz it's barely even subtext, people!!), hints at Booth/Bones...Sylar is a bad guy and not having the freaky chameleon identity chrisis/mommy issues, but I'm not entirely sure when he gained Claire's regenerating power...we're gonna say for plot's sake that he's got it. Also, this is just sorta a dry-run chapter to see how people respond. I'd like to continue, though. And I apologize for any characterization issues...it's harder to write fanfic for TV shows because you're watching and listening instead of reading. _Rating for Safety._

**Summary: **Dr. Brennan of the Jeffersonian recieves a victim who died in a rather peculiar way...The top of her skull was cut off, but there are no apparent instrument marks. This case takes her and Booth to New York City, where lives a tie to the victim. Professor Mohinder Suresh may be able to tell them how to find who they're looking for...but will they be able to catch the murderer? They enlist the help of another "special" person Matt knows, a baker by the name of Althea Sloan. Together perhaps they can find the victim's murderer...before he finds them.

_Chapter One: Desperately Seeking Suresh_

"Victim is approximately 55 to 60 years of age, female Mongoloid…of eastern Indian decent, looks like. Victim has been dead roughly…three days."

"Cause of death?" Zach cocked an eyebrow at Dr. Brennan. "Just for the record," she explained coolly.

"Cause of death…removal of the top part of the skull." Brennan nodded and continued watching Zach.

"Instrument?"

"Unknown." Brennan frowned and leaned closer in.

"No tooth marks or anything?" She gently turned the cap of the skull in her hands. Zach shook his head.

"No tooth marks, burns, nothing." The frown grew deeper as she examined the skull herself.

"There's got to be something…" The creases on her forehead deepened even more. She brought it close to her eyes and examined it. "And no foreign DNA was found on the victim?"

"None." The intern shrugged.

"Bones!" Booth came striding into the room. Brennan turned her frown toward him. "This uh, this body that you've got…top of the head's missing?"

"Yeah, but how did you--?"

"Come with me."

* * *

"So…why are we in New York City again?" Brennan jogged a little to keep up with Booth, wading against the stream of people.

"Because there's a serial killer on the loose. Calls himself Sylar. The way your vic died, that's his MO. No marks from instruments are ever found, no DNA, no evidence that he ever touched them and, when we find a fresh one, no signs of a struggle."

"And he's in New York?" Booth shrugged.

"Don't know. What we _do_ know is that your body, Mehra, can be traced back to a professor in this city, and he may be able to help us. He's worked with us against Sylar before." He checked the piece of paper again, making sure they were heading for the right address.

"Professor? Professor of what?"

"Genetics. Though our information on him says that his last job was driving a cab here in the city."

"What would a professor of genetics be doing driving a cab? And what do genetics have to do with any of this, anyway?"

"Dunno. Guess we'll find out, won't we?" Booth pointed to a building up on their left. "Here." Brennan followed him into the building and up the dank stairway.

"A geneticist lives _here_?" Booth shrugged.

"To each his own, I guess." Brennan nodded in agreement.

"So what's this professor's name?"

"Suresh." Brennan stopped.

"Not as in Chandra?" Booth stopped as well a few steps above her.

"No, as in Mohinder, Chandra's son. You knew Chandra Suresh?" Brennan nodded.

"We're more acquaintances than anything. He's brilliant, one of the best in his field. Shame, though, he went off the deep end a few years ago." She began walking again. "Dropped off the radar when he moved out of India, chasing some half-baked theory about genetic mutations." Agent Booth continued to climb, as well.

"Well Bones, sorry to break it to you this way but Chandra Suresh is dead." She cocked her head to the side.

"Dead?"

"Yeah. He was found dead in the cab he drove six months ago, murdered. Probably a mugging." Brennan shook her head.

"Shame. He was a good scientist and he seemed like a good man." Booth lead the way down the hall and stopped in front of a door.

"Here." He knocked sharply on the door. A little blonde girl of about ten or so answered. "Hi," Booth said in a friendly manner, kneeling down to her level. "Are your parents home?" The girl looked at him warily for a moment, then half-turned her head back into the apartment.

"Matt!" she called into the house. "Someone's at the door." She kept staring at Booth and Brennan until a comfortably large man opened the door wider. Booth stood back up to his full height.

"Can I help you?" Matt asked, leaning against the door jam.

"Yes, actually," Brennan answered as Booth pulled out his badge and flashed it to Matt.

"Agent Seeley Booth, this is my associate Doctor Temperance Brennan. We were told Mohinder Suresh lives here?" Matt nodded and stood away from the door.

"Please, come in. I'll go get him." Brennan and Booth entered the tiny apartment and looked around.

It was small and dingy, just like the hallway outside, but apart from normal furnishings had a few things about it which were quite odd. For one there was a map pinned up to the wall with colored pins stuck into it. Differently colored yarns were tied around the pins and many had pictures of people stuck next to them. A bit of yarn dangled from one pin, as if the map were incomplete. For another, a laptop was out on the small scrubbed wooden table. This would not have been in the least bit odd if only said laptop weren't running a complex algorithm. Brennan frowned at the algorithm…she couldn't make heads or tails of it, at least not at this distance.

Another odd thing, at least one that struck Booth, were the signs that the girl who had answered the door actually lived here. Young adult books were scattered across the living room floor, recently-used ballet slippers resided in a corner, and a half-finished plastic beaded bracelet lay forgotten on the coffee table. Strange that Mohinder Suresh should live here, but when asked for her parents the girl had called the big guy to the door. The only explanation Booth could think of was that the two men live together. He raised his eyebrows a little at the thought.

Matt came back with a man somewhat shorter and slighter than he. The Indian man shook hands with Brennan and Booth as they were introduced before looking around.

"What?" Matt asked.

"Time? Molly's got ballet at two." Matt consulted his watch.

"1:30." Mohinder sighed.

"Molly!"

"Almost ready!" the girl called from somewhere in the back of the apartment. She came out in a leotard and jeans.

"Sit," the smaller man commanded gently, pointing to the floor in front of the couch. Molly sat and distracted herself with finishing her bracelet. "Please," he said to the two visitors, "have a seat." He motioned to the couch and chair in the living room before himself sitting behind Molly. "You're going to have to learn to do this yourself, you know," he chided Molly while brushing out her hair. She sighed.

"I know."

"So," Mohinder said without looking up from the girl's hair, "Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, how can I help you?" He split Molly's hair into three pieces and began laying one piece over the other. Booth pursed his lips at the celerity with which Mohinder began a braid.

"Professor Suresh, did you know Charvi Mehra?" Mohinder looked up in surprise and paused in fretting over the girl's hair.

"Yes…" he said slowly, "she was an associate of my father's. They worked together on his projects. Why?" He pulled the left strand of hair over the middle.

"She was found dead in a swamp," Brennan said bluntly. Mohinder looked up again and blinked.

"She…what?" He frowned.

"Dead," she reiterated. "Her next of kin has been notified."

"Then why do you need me?" He shook his head a little and bent his face back towards the hair in his hands.

"Well, it was _how_ she died…" Booth put in.

"I see." Before Booth could say anymore, Mohinder said without looking up, "Tell me Agent Booth, was she found with the top of her head missing?"

"Yes," Brennan answered for Booth, surprised. "But it didn't make any sense to us. How did you…?" Matt laughed a little.

"It makes perfect sense," he said, putting his hands on the back of the couch near Mohinder's shoulders. "I mean, if she was working with your father, she probably knew."

"And she might've even…" Mohinder trailed off with a discreet glance at the two strangers in his living room.

"Yeah," Matt answered, not needing the other to finish his sentence. "Most likely, if she's dead."

"Either he's slipping," Mohinder murmured, "or he's trying to get my attention."

"You know who did it?" Brennan asked, tiptoeing delicately around the situation. This Suresh could be involved in the murders.

"You're looking for Gabriel Grey, alias Sylar," Mohinder said wearily. "Roughly 30 years old, six feet or so, dark hair and eyes, prominent nose. Yeah, I know who did it." He rubbed his face as Matt patted him on the back gently.

"Professor Suresh, were you involved with these murders?" Booth asked cautiously. Mohinder's face jerked up and he went back to braiding Molly's hair.

"Of course I'm not!" he snapped testily. "Hair tie?" Molly held up a ponytail holder and Mohinder took it, quickly twisting it around the end of the braid. "Sylar killed my father. I've been trying to track him down for six months." He tapped Molly on the shoulder and she stood up and continued getting ready for her class.

"I'm sorry," Booth said sincerely.

"I knew your father," Brennan put in. "He was a brilliant man." A smile crossed Mohinders face that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yes, he was," he answered absently.

* * *

Reviews are LOVE!! Free Matt plushies to whoever reviews.


	2. A Wicked Sense of Smell

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, never will, quit rubbing it in. Well, I _do_ own Althea, but that's not much. Special thanks to Mereth, Goddess of all Daleks, and Basia Orci for being my first reviewers! XD P.S. Goddess of all Daleks...I challenge you to a faceoff with David Tennant!! *points accusingly*

_Chapter Two: A Wicked Sense of Smell_

"So…you're telling me that you have special abilities?" Brennan's eyebrow was arched in disbelief.

"Well, I don't," Mohinder explained patiently, "but there are many out there who do. Matt, for example, is one. Molly is another...Unfortunately, so is Sylar. I've been trying to piece together my father's work to try to continue his research. If we can find out what triggers these abilities, we can control them and possibly even manipulate them in ordinary people." Booth and Brennan exchanged a look. Clearly this guy was as crazy as his father had been. "You don't believe me."

"Well…" Booth tried to find a tactful way to put it.

"It wasn't a question. You don't believe me." He sighed. "When Matt gets home, I'll give you proof." Booth shrugged.

"If you say so." And it wasn't long until Matt returned from dropping Molly off at ballet.

"What did I miss?" he asked, hanging his coat on a hook by the door.

"I told them," Mohinder said quietly. Matt frowned concernedly.

"About…?"

"Us…well, you and Molly and Sylar, anyway." _Not about __us__ us_. Matt nodded.

"I see." He turned to look at Booth and Brennan. "And you don't believe us?"

"Detective Parkman, I'm a woman who believes in science and facts," Brennan said, leaning back and crossing her arms. "You expect me to believe that somewhere out there is a flying congressman or a telekinetic serial killer?"

"You asked for my help, I'm giving it to you," Mohinder bristled. Matt sat down on the couch on the opposite end of his flat mate.

"Think of anything, Dr. Brennan. Anything at all." Brennan's eyebrow climbed closer to her hairline.

"What, like a number or something?" Matt shrugged.

"Doesn't have to be a number, could be an animal or a phrase or a scientific theory. Anything in the world." Brennan bit her lip for a second.

"Okay."

"76 Trombones." Booth looked a little confused.

"What?" Matt turned to him.

"76 Trombones," he repeated simply. "That's what she's thinking. The song's been stuck in her head for God knows how long, at least since she got here." A startled look passed across Brennan's face before she hid it.

"How did you know that?" Matt shrugged.

"It's like Mohinder said. I can read minds." Now Brennan's other eyebrow slid up. Matt sighed. "26. Purple elephants. Raxicoricovalipatorious. Booth. Angela. Hodgins. Zack." He turned to face Booth. "Yes, I can. Connor. Ecuador. Bones. Copacabana, the song not the place. Getting back to D.C. I can stop any time you like," he added without missing a beat. "I could tell you what you're thinking all day, but it wouldn't get you any closer to finding Sylar." Brennan scoffed a little.

"Well will your unexplained ability to read minds—which I have not yet decided I believe is more than a parlor trick," she added, "help us catch him?"

"Maybe," the telepath answered slowly, "and maybe not. But I _do_ know someone who could find him for you." Mohinder's head snapped toward Matt.

"Not—" The cop shook his head.

"No! Of course not! You think after what she's been through, after the nightmares, I'd ask her?" He shook his head and stood. "Follow me."

Seven blocks and several half-hearted shouting matches with strangers later, the four stood outside a bakery.

"This is your secret weapon?" Booth asked skeptically. "You met someone in a doughnut shop?" Matt pursed his lips.

"Not a doughnut shop, a bakery. We had a robbery here last week and she called us in."

_She?_ Mohinder thought skeptically at Matt. The latter caught this sideways comment and glanced at him a little disdainfully. Hadn't he learned by now?

"Follow me," he said quietly, holding the door to the shop open.

"Give me a minute!" A voice called from in the back somewhere as a bell above the door tinkled. The small building smelled wonderfully of baking bread and cookies. "I've got anything you want," the voice called, "bread, cakes, cookies, any sort. I also have meat pies, but don't worry; everything's kosher and hal—" The woman came back out of her back room to her counter. "—halal," she finished quietly. "I didn't report anymore robberies, Detective Parkman. I thought you were done asking me about the suspect." Her eyes flicked between the cop, the two scientists, and the FBI agent.

"This isn't about the robbery, Miss Sloan," Matt said gently. "I'm off-duty." Booth flashed her his badge.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth, this is Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian institute." The baker dusted the flour off of her hands before reaching her arm over the counter to shake hands with each of them in turn.

"And Dr. Mohinder Suresh," Mohinder introduced himself. She smiled pleasantly at them.

"Althea Sloan. Pleasure. I'm guessing you're not here for baked goods then, are you, Detective?" she asked Matt, folding her arms. Matt shook his head.

"I'm afraid not…I'm actually here about what we discussed last week." A wry grin twisted Althea's lips.

"I see…No one else can solve a case, so call in the bloodhound, is that it?"

"Well, that isn't _exactly_ what I had in mind."

"I'll bet not. 'Bloodhound,' wasn't the exact word, was it?" Althea's voice carried no tone of malice, only sarcastic teasing. Matt sighed.

"Miss Sloan," he said with the air of one losing his patience, "if you would please just _try _to cooperate." She allowed herself a short laugh before adjusting some cakes in their display case.

"I told you, Detective, I don't like cops. It was all I could do to call in the B and E last week."

"Miss Sloan, you could be saving many lives if you help us," Booth put in patiently.

"Those people will die anyway, just later rather than sooner," she replied distractedly, straightening a fondant flower on a wedding cake display.

"Please," Mohinder tried, "he's killing people like us." She straightened and looked at him.

"'Us'? Dr. Suresh, there is no 'us.' There's me. Whatever is going on, I'm in it alone because you can't trust anybody who's like 'us.' Believe me, I know. Besides, you're not one of 'us,' you only know about it." Mohinder frowned.

"How do you—?"

"How do I know you know what's going on?" Another smile pushed the corners of her mouth back up. "Doctor, you reek of knowledge and sandalwood. How could I not know?" Mohinder nodded, understanding.

"Enhanced olfactory senses. I see." Booth furrowed his eyebrows.

"What?"

"I have a wicked sense of smell," the baker explained. She came out from behind her counter and leaned on the display case, crossing her arms. Althea examined Booth for a moment. "Give me anything and I can tell you every place it's been within the past five to fifty years."

"Five to fifty?" Booth's eyebrow raised a little. "That's a kinda broad time window there." Althea shrugged.

"Depends on how clean it's been kept, how porous it is, all that jazz. A wooden table, for instance, I could tell you everywhere it's been within the last 45 or 50 years. A wedding band…" here she shrugged, "three years at best. If it's worn at all times then the oil from the owner's skin is always all over it and metal doesn't absorb smells very well and it's got metallic overtones anyway. But either way, whenever there's an object with a powerful enough scent…I can _see_ where it's been." Brennan nodded.

"So if we had something of Sylar's, you could see him and tell us where he is?" The baker nodded.

"Or was, depending on how long ago he lost it."

"But we don't have anything of his," Booth mumbled. "Another dead end." Althea's Cheshire Cat grin widened.

"Oh, but you do." The four frowned at her. Arms still folded, she sidled over to Mohinder.

"You were around him, weren't you, Doctor? He was right under your nose and you didn't see him."

"How…how did you know?" Mohinder was beginning to get more than a little creeped out. A quiet chuckle moved up her throat as she moved behind him.

"It was a while ago, a few months at least," she said in his ear, "but underneath all those smells is another one—one that isn't your own. It's the smell of a great hunger, a hunger for knowledge and power." She stood up on her toes and pressed a handful of his hair to her nose, breathing deeply. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment and she sank back down onto flat feet. The baker moved back around, between Matt and Mohinder, to stand in front of them again and shook her head. "He's been following you," she said plainly. "Hiding in plain sight and you've overlooked him."

"Is he here now?" Matt asked, looking around and casting his mind out quickly for any other consciousness beyond the five of them. Althea, however, shook her head.

"No. He knows me, somehow…He knew better than to follow you here." She looked at the four of them as if searching for answers hidden in their faces. "This Sylar, is that his real name?" Mohinder shook his head.

"His name is Gabriel Grey." Althea's frown deepened in thought.

"I know his name and his face…I've seen him before, but I can't remember where."

* * *

Reviews are love...and reviewers for this chapter get a Dr. Temperence "Bones" Brennan action figure...with SQUINTING ACTION!!!!!!!!!!


	3. Gaydar

**Disclaimer: **This is what I call overkill on claiming this to not be mine, but I'm legally obliged to put it here. *snuggles Sendhil Ramamurthy*

**A/N**: So I guess this is just sort of a filler chapter. I know it's about half as long, but it's a transition. Bear with me. =P

_Chapter Three: Gaydar_

"Please, try to remember any information about him you can." Booth used as gentle a tone as he could summon.

"I could find it for you." Matt reached out for Althea's consciousness, but found himself firmly blocked. She looked up at him and snickered.

"Please, Detective. You think after last week's little mishap I'm going to leave my mind unguarded?" She shook her head. "Not a chance. Agent Booth, if you could just give me a little time. I can remember important things when I'm not concentrating on them. I'm just sorta absent-minded that way." She smiled sheepishly. Booth nodded.

"Yeah, of course. If you remember anything about him," he handed her a card, "here's my number." She took it and pulled a pen from her apron pocket.

"And if you get any sort of item belonging to him," she grabbed his hand and wrote on the back of it, "here's mine." She grabbed Mohinder's hand, as well, with a small smile and a twinkle in her eye. "You, too, in case Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan are needed back where ever they're from. Wouldn't do if one of you was stuck without me, hey?" Mohinder nodded mutely and glanced at Matt.

_What just happened?_ Matt, unable to answer, just shrugged discreetly.

* * *

"Well, _that_ was a giant waste of time," Booth grumbled as the four made their way across the street to Mohinder's apartment.

"Not quite," Brennan countered, once again having to keep up with him. "We've found in Sloan a valuable resource. If we ever find anything of Sylar's—"

"But we won't!" the FBI agent interrupted. "He never leaves anything behind. You _know_ that, Bones!" Brennan sighed as Matt and Mohinder led the way up the stairs, quietly having their own conversation.

"Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth," Matt began, turning around at the door while Mohinder unlocked it, "do you have anywhere to stay?" The two from D.C. looked at each other. They hadn't gotten that far.

"Well, I'm sure there's a hotel somewhere. I mean, we _are_ in New York City," Booth answered, seeming to search his memory for some place.

"You can stay with us if you have nowhere else," the geneticist said quietly as he pushed the door open. "It's not much, but the couch pulls out. You can share if you're comfortable with it. If not…" he shrugged. "The chair reclines." Again, the two investigators looked at each other.

"I'll take the chair," Booth volunteered.

_Meet me in the bedroom,_ Mohinder thought in Matt's direction. "If you'll please excuse me for a moment," he said after putting a kettle of water on. Quickly the geneticist disappeared into the back of the apartment. A respectable time afterward, Matt made up an excuse and also disappeared.

"What's up?"

"This." Mohinder sat on the bed and held up the hand with Althea's phone number. Matt looked at it expressionlessly for a moment before shrugging.

"So? You're not interested, so you don't have to call her."

"But _they_ know!" The bony Indian gestured out in the direction of the kitchen. "At least he does. I don't have to be like you to know he knows." Matt raised an eyebrow.

"So…you want to call her as a cover?"

"Well that's what I wanted to ask you about. Clearly you've had more experience with women than I have." Matt pursed his lips.

"Well, if you want to call her then call her. But I'll tell you now, I don't like it."

"It's not like it'd be a real date. She probably knows already, women can sense that sort of thing." Matt laughed a little.

"Well yeah, but you're pretty enough that it'll put their gaydar on the fritz. They'll make up any sort of excuse to rationalize." Mohinder tinged pink.

"So um…so when should I call her?" Matt shrugged.

"A little later tonight. Set up coffee or something for this weekend. Nothing serious." He glanced at his watch. "I have to go get Molly. Think you can handle these two yourself?"

"I did before, didn't I?" Matt smiled and kissed Mohinder's forehead.

"See you in a little bit, then. Love you." Mohinder squeezed Matt's hand gently.

"I love you, too." As Matt walked out the door, Booth and Brennan's conversation suddenly stopped. He confirmed his suspicions by glimpsing into their minds before heading down the stairs.

"I don't think it matters," Brennan continued, still in a hushed tone. "If anything it means they won't be distracted if Sloan tries any advances like she did with Dr. Suresh."

"I'm tellin you, Bones, I just don't feel comfortable staying with them…Especially if they've got a daughter." Brennan rolled her eyes.

"Well, it's cheaper than paying for a hotel and if anything happens then we'll just be right here." Booth sighed.

"I dunno, Bones…"

"Have you got any better ideas?" Agent Booth kept his eyes down. "Then we'll stay here. We can switch off sleeping in the chair."

* * *

Review time!!! Free Booth action figures with detatchable vamp "game-face" for all you Buffy/Angel fans!


	4. With Butter Cream Frosting

**Disclaimer: **I own only Althea...Though, I wouldn't mind owning a date with Mohinder... *looks up Sendhil Ramamurthy's number...and ignores that he's married*

**A/N: **So, many many apologies for the delayed chapter!! I was away from the internet for four days, so I've got an extra long chapter for you. ^-^

_Chapter Four: With Butter Cream Frosting_

"I can't believe it. A serial killer's out on the loose and he's going on a date!"

"Well Bones, _you're_ the one who wanted to stay with them…" Brennan rolled your eyes.

"More comfortable now?"

"Yes, in fact, I am."

* * *

"Favorite smell?"

"Hmm…Stripped copper and dried sweat." Althea smiled and took a sip of her coffee. "Favorite geneticist?"

"Genetics are a hobby of yours?" Mohinder rose an eyebrow and smirked. She shrugged.

"I know a few names from the few times I tuned in during high school biology," she admitted with a smile. "Figured it wouldn't hurt to ask and pretend I knew what you were talking about." She winked. Mohinder laughed a little at her honesty.

"Well Gregor Mendel, for what it's worth." The baker nodded.

"Old school, I lucked out. So…something you think you know about me but I haven't told you." Mohinder gave her a knowing look over the rim of his cup.

"See, now _you've_ got _me_ at a disadvantage." Her Cheshire grin returned.

"Well, give it a shot." Mohinder thought for a moment as Althea drained the last of her coffee.

"You project a lot of confidence, but are very absent-minded."

"Nope, you can't do that. I told you on Wednesday I was absent-minded." He conceded.

"Alright. How about this: you project a lot of confidence, but are secretly self-conscious." This time she nodded.

"Good guess. How'd you know?" The geneticist shrugged.

"Nobody's comfortable in their own skin, no matter how much they say they are. Your turn; something you know about me that I haven't told you." The grin widened and she nodded as she put down her half of the check and stood.

"Well, I know that no matter how much fun it might be to try to seduce you, it'd be a waste of my time." He stood and followed, holding the door open for her.

"I don't know what you mean." She sashayed past him out the door and waited for him to follow.

"Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean." He caught up with her, pulling his coat tighter around himself.

"Well, spell it out for me." She stopped in front of him, still smiling.

"What I mean is," she said, adjusting her scarf, "there's no shame in being a sucker for Old Spice; it happens to the best of us. And don't you say you still don't know what I'm talking about." She took his arm and started leading him down the street.

"I gather you gave me your number out of no romantic interest." Althea's smile lowered to one of gentle understanding.

"The FBI guy reeked of suspicion. Thought I'd give you an excuse, but I don't think Parkman will like me much after this. Not that he seemed to be overly fond of me in the first place." Her smile faded as she frowned against the cold November wind.

"What do you mean, he 'reeked of suspicion'? You've said something like that before, that I smelled of knowledge. Can you…_smell_ emotion or knowledge or desires?" Althea bit her lip.

"That's something I'm not sure I've figured out yet. Um…I think it's sort of like an animal. They say that sharks can smell fear, and I think that's how it works only with more than emotions. Like…suspicion smells really sharp, like a cheese that's been aged too long. Knowledge," here she motioned to Mohinder with her head, "has more of a warmer smell, at least knowledge that you want. It smells a little like baking apple pie. Knowledge that you don't want, like maybe you're adopted or your boyfriend killed someone…" she paused, "it smells like rotting vegetation."

"And hunger…for something other than food?" Mohinder asked cautiously, remembering what she'd said about Sylar.

"Same thing as simple curiosity, only stronger; your favorite food, ironically enough. Sylar's is vanilla birthday cake with butter cream frosting." Mohinder laughed a little. "What?" He shrugged.

"I'm not sure. There's something funny about a vicious, intangible serial killer's favorite food being birthday cake." A small smile returned to the baker's lips.

"I suppose it is, isn't it?" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"What?" Althea giggled.

"Your mother's chicken curry. Why am I not surprised?" He pursed his lips to keep himself from smiling…unsuccessfully.

"No spying! It's not fair."

"Hey! It makes me feel less intimidated, knowing something you don't…or something you don't think I know." She poked her tongue out at him playfully. Mohinder looked curiously at her.

"I intimidate you?" She shrugged.

"You and your big science-y brain and your pretty-to-look-at…ness…" She trailed off and looked away. The geneticist smiled gently.

"I thought you said you knew it was useless to try to seduce me?"

"I did. Doesn't make you any less good-looking. He's a lucky guy, you know." Mohinder allowed a small, quiet laugh.

"Most of the time I think I'm the lucky one." A silence fell between them as they wandered into Times Square. "So…did you ever think of it?" She glanced over at him.

"Think of what?"

"Where you'd seen Sylar before?" Realization dawned over her face.

"Oh! Yes! Thank you for reminding me! I knew I'd seen him somewhere before. I got out my old yearbook the other day. I'd known the name Gabriel Grey before…He was in my graduating class in high school." Mohinder stopped and looked at her, searching her face for any emotional clues.

"You _knew_ him??" She shrugged.

"Well…not exactly _knew_ him. I knew _of_ him. He was mostly a loner, kept to himself, bit of a weirdo, really."

"That's all you know?" She thought a little bit.

"He was president of the photography club. My friend said he had a thing about snow globes." Mohinder frowned.

"Snow globes?" The baker shrugged.

"Don't ask me. Everyone has their quirks. Sharpie-sniffing weirdo, that's how I knew Gabe. I never had much to do with him." Mohinder nodded.

"Well…do you mind if I have Agent Booth stop by the bakery tomorrow?" She nodded.

"Sure. I'll drag out the yearbook and tell him what I know. I'm afraid it's not much, but it's more than what you've got now." He inclined his head in agreement. Again they both fell silent, now more of a quite pensiveness, as they began walking again. Althea smiled to herself. "A church." Mohinder glanced at his companion out of the corner of his eye.

"What?"

"Thought. It smells the way a church feels." Mohinder joined her in smiling.

"That's an interesting way of putting things." Her small smile grew wider.

"Well, it's the only way I can think of putting things sometimes. Like…Christmas. It has a taste, you know?"

"I think that's just the feeling of any holiday," Mohinder said slowly. She shook her head.

"I know the feeling of other holidays, I know what you mean, but Christmas is different. I think it's linked to sense memory…Like stripped copper and dried sweat; it's my favorite smell because it's a memory of my father. He'd always come home smelling like dried sweat and dirt, and on the weekends he'd bring home pounds and pounds of extra copper. Work would give him any extra copper because he worked for low wages, so he and Mom would spend the weekend stripping the black casing off of the copper wires so we could sell them for a bit of extra money. And…there was always a feeling about him. It was like…the feel of a hard day's work. So whenever I'm around those two smells, it always smells like a hard day's work and it feels like Dad even though...well…" She trailed off and looked at the pavement as they walked. The corners of her eyes turned down in sorrow.

"I'm sorry," Mohinder murmured softly. She shrugged.

"Thanks. Me too…" she looked up at him, "about yours." He returned her gaze easily.

"You could—?" She shook her head.

"I read his book. I um…I saw the article in the newspaper. That's why you're here, isn't it? To avenge your father?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say '_avenge_.' I _do_ want to find him because of my father."

"But you've also got some sort of morbid curiosity." Mohinder nodded.

"If you want to put it that way, then yes." Althea sighed.

"Come on, enough of all this serious stuff!" She tugged at his arm. "It's only eight o'clock, we've got all night to fool Booth!" She tugged him toward a brightly lit door, from which was emitting a thumping beat. He leaned back and scuffed his heels against the pavement.

"What?! No! I can't…! I don't dance!" Althea laughed brightly and continued tugging.

"Now you do!"

Mohinder flopped backward onto the bed.

"How'd it go?" Matt mumbled, half-asleep on his side with his back to Mohinder.

"She forced me into a club." Matt chuckled sleepily.

"You tell her you don't dance?"

"I tried," he sighed, sitting up again and pulling his shirt off over his head. "She didn't listen…then actually _tried _to get me to dance." He kicked off his shoes and pulled of his socks, wiggling his toes on the hardwood floor.

"Success?"

"Some. It was a painful experience." Matt chuckled again.

"Anything about Sylar?"

"Yes, actually." He pulled off his pants and threw back the covers. Matt rolled onto his other side and opened his eyes a fraction. "She went to high school with him." He snuggled down under the covers, pulling them up to his chin and punching his pillow into a higher comfort level. Matt pushed himself up onto his elbow to look at Mohinder.

"What? She knew him?"

"Well…not exactly _knew_ him…More like they were acquaintances. She said she knew of him, but they weren't exactly friends." The detective nodded and lowered himself back down.

"She's gonna tell Booth?" The geneticist nodded as he rolled over onto his side. "And she knows about…us…?" Again was a nod.

"She said she 'knew it was no use seducing me, but it doesn't make me any less intimidating or pretty to look at." Matt grinned as he pressed his chest against Mohinder's back and draped an arm around his chest.

"She thinks you're intimidating?" he teased gently. Mohinder nodded and turned his head to look at Matt.

"She also said she thought you were a lucky man…I think I'm the lucky one." The cop smiled again and kissed the slender man's forehead.

"Nope, no, she's right. I'm definitely the lucky one." He reached over and flipped off the light on the nightstand. Mohinder yawned widely.

_I love you._

"I love you too. Night." He kissed Mohinder's temple, but the geneticist was already sleeping.

* * *

Reviews=Much love. Win a date with Mohinder for a review!!


	5. I Don't Like Cops

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, which makes me very sad.

**A/N:** So I'm sorry!!! Life has been crazy what with moving and finding a job and all, and I know this is a poor excuse of a chapter. Please forgive me. *grovelgrovelgrovel* But some season, huh? ^__^

_Chapter Five: I Don't Like Cops_

"And you're sure this is the same Gabriel Grey?" Booth considered Angela's rendering of Sylar based on Suresh's description, then the yearbook picture from 1995.

"Yup, that's him. He's been on the FBI's list for months now, but you and Professor Suresh have been the first ones able to provide us with a description. Miss Sloan, you're sure you've told us all you know?" He tucked the picture away and looked at her.

"Certain. Sharpie-sniffing weirdo, photography club, snow globes; that's all I know about the guy. I'd see him walking down the hall just kinda looking like he was off in lala land, but now I guess we know why, huh?" Althea cocked an eyebrow and twirled her index finger near her temple.

"Did you have any mutual friends or acquaintances?" Brennan asked the baker. Althea thought for a moment then shook her head.

"Nope. Well, no one I talk to now, anyway. I didn't particularly _enjoy_ high school and did the best I could to lose contact with and forget everyone I met there." Booth opened his mouth to ask another question, but Brennan tugged on his elbow.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Sloan. We'll contact you if we have any more questions."

"No problem. Any time." The smile was tight across her face.

"What're you doing? I still had questions!"

"You'd be wasting your time, Booth." This time it was Dr. Brennan who led the way back to the tiny apartment. "Almost every word out of her mouth was a lie; we'll never get anywhere with her. Either she knows more than she's telling us, or knows someone with more information."

"Which is _why_ I still had questions! You know how this goes, Bones."

"Look, honestly I don't trust any of them. But if she's just going to lie to us, why not get someone she _can't_ lie to?" A look of understanding passed over Booth's face as he held the door to the apartment building open for his partner.

"You want Parkman to read her mind."

"Exactly." The pair from D.C. made their way up to the flat and entered without knocking.

"How'd it go?" Mohinder didn't look up from his laptop when they walked in.

"She didn't tell us much we didn't know already," Booth said, sitting down on the couch. "Any idea when Matt's gonna be home?" Brennan glanced at her watch. Nearly 4:00.

"Probably around six." The geneticist glanced up at the clock before going back to typing and frowning at the screen. "I need to leave in about twenty minutes to go pick up Molly." The girl had gone home on her friend's bus yesterday after school to do homework and spend the night; she wasn't allowed sleepovers on school nights. "Why do you need Matt?"

"Oh, no reason," Booth said as nonchalantly as he could. "Just need to talk to him, that's all."

* * *

"I can't." Matt didn't look up from checking over Molly's homework as he spoke to the investigators.

"What'd you mean, you can't?" Booth asked, folding his arms. "You read mine and Bones' easily enough."

"She won't let me," Matt explained, marking one of the math problems with a pencil. "If you've had experience with mind readers before, you know that there's a way to block them. Apparently you can feel someone…poking around in your brain. That's how I discovered Sloan was like me; I was poking around for any details she may've missed and she blocked me. Needless to say, we had words after that."

"Why does she block you?" Brennan asked. "What has she got to hide?" Matt shrugged.

"Dunno. Don't know if she's got anything to hide, but she's made it abundantly clear that she doesn't like cops."

"Which makes her even more suspicious." But it was here that Matt shook his head while marking another math problem on the paper.

"Not necessarily. A lot of people who grow up in a city like this or LA don't like cops. It's just the way it is."

"Law-abiding civilians have no reason to fear policemen," Brennan insisted.

"It doesn't work that way," Matt replied, rubbing his face. "It's not that they're _afraid_ of cops, they just don't like them."

"Can you at least _try_?" Booth asked. "Take Mohinder here with you, maybe it'll distract her enough to give you some answers she wouldn't give us." Mohinder at the stove bristled a little at being spoken of like he was some sort of interrogation tool, but otherwise said and did nothing. The cop sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Fine. But don't be surprised if we don't find anything. Mohinder," he looked up at his partner, "you wanna come?"

"Sure," was all Mohinder said, continuing to cook. "But I don't think it'll help."

"Well neither do I," Matt admitted. "But it's the closest shot we've got." He pushed Molly's homework back across the table to her and she began correcting problems just as Mohinder announced that dinner would be in five.

* * *

Loud music blared through the door of the apartment marked 42. Matt rolled his eyes and pounded on the door again with the flat of his fist, glancing back down at the file Booth had given him to make sure it was the correct address.

"Sloan?" he called through the door. "Open up!" A few moments later the sliding and clicking of locks were heard and Althea stood before them in a wife beater and cut off jeans, both covered in paint.

"Sorry," she yelled over the music. "I couldn't hear you. Come on in!" She left the door open for them, retreating to the stereo by a wall and switching it off with her foot. The room was empty, the floor covered with brown paper, and the reeking walls a new, sunshiny yellow. She apologized again. "I guess I get a little carried away when I paint."

"What, you always paint your apartment?" Matt pressed his lips together. She shrugged and wiped her hands off on her jeans.

"I like to do it once every three or four months; make sure nothing gets boring. I'd offer you a seat, but it's all in my kitchen right now. You guys want something to drink?" She flipped her reddish auburn ponytail back over her shoulder as she spoke, trying not to touch it with her hands.

"No thanks," Mohinder said quietly, Matt declining as well. She shrugged.

"Suit yourselves, then. What can I do for you?" She leaned slightly against the windowsill, that wall being for the most part dry, and folded her arms across her chest. "More about Sylar?"

"Yeah, we just wanted to make sure you hadn't remembered anything since yesterday. Y'know, now that you've had a chance to sleep on it." As he spoke, Matt tried to probe her mind for anything.

"I told you all I know." Althea's tone had slipped from friendly to irritable. He knew she could feel him and withdrew. "If Agent Booth doesn't trust me, he doesn't have to use me as a source."

"Well, you don't like cops, so—"

"So he sent a cop?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"He sent me," Mohinder volunteered. "Matt decided to come along."

"To see what he could glean by invading my brain," she said matter-of-factly, looking at Matt and forcing him out. "I'm not hiding anything; I just like such invasion of the last safe place." She shook her head and leaned down, grabbing up a paint roller and rolling it across the wall. "If Agent Booth has any more questions, he can do his own dirty work." Her tone made it very clear that the conversation was over.

* * *

Pretty please R&R? Each review counts as a vote to get Zach Addy out of the loony bin and back to the lab where he belongs. It also puts you in the running for being King of the Lab. ^_^


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